


New Beginnings

by eggsbenni221



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Family, Fluff, Holidays, turkey curry buffet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 23:57:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17069645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggsbenni221/pseuds/eggsbenni221
Summary: Get ready to drink like a fish, smoke like a chimney, and party like Bridget Jones. The holidays are back, and it's time for another turkey curry buffet, but with a few very special  guests this year.





	New Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> I realize that where this would fall in the timeline, both Mark Darcy and Colin Jones, as well as Geoffrey Alconbury would be gone, but damn it, it's Christmas. I didn't think it necessary to provide context for how Mark survives Sudan; feel free to use your imagination! Typos and formatting errors are mine, as always. Please point them out respectfully, particularly if they make reading the text difficult for you. Happy Holidays!

Another year, another Christmas, another annual (and infamous) turkey curry buffet. Standing in a corner of the Joneses’ lounge and absently swirling a glass of red wine, Mark Darcy felt, for just a moment, as if nothing had changed. Here was the same collection of faces who had greeted him on countless New Year’s Days for as far back as he could recall: principally the Joneses, the Alconburys, the Enderbys, and his own parents, slightly older, slightly greyer, but otherwise the same. Here were Pam Jones and Una Alconbury predictably clashing over the unsettled debate about lumpy gravy as time-honored as their friendship. Here was Geoffrey Alconbury harrumphing and hitching up his trousers as he waddled tipsily toward Bridget and winking at Mark as he gave her backside the obligatory pat. As Bridget laughed and swatted Geoffrey’s hand away, Mark experienced a rush of warmth that had nothing to do with the wine and everything to do with the woman whose eyes shone as they met his across the room. Here, Mark reflected contentedly, in Bridget, was where he saw the difference. 

Had he the means, on a similar evening years before, to glimpse his future, Mark would still have never believed he would be standing here now, watching his wife balancing a drink in her hand and their nearly 2-year-old daughter against her hip. Mother and daughter were festively attired in matching red dresses, Bridget’s synched at the waist with a black belt and Mabel’s with a little black sash. Bridget wore a band of tinsel in her hair; the ends of Mabel’s braids were similarly adorned. 

Looking at the pair of them, Mark felt that familiar pull deep in his chest, as if his little girl’s tiny fingers had wrapped around his heart, and a lump rose to his throat as he reflected that this was the first turkey curry buffet the four of them had attended together as a family. Billy had made several appearances, of course, but Mabel’s first Christmas and New Year had come just eight months after Mark’s treacherous trip to Sudan—the trip from which he had very nearly never returned. They had spent Christmas day in Grafton Underwood, naturally, but Mark had asked, and Bridget had agreed that they welcome the new year quietly, just the four of them, as a family. Consequently, tonight Mabel was making what Bridget had officially termed her “TCB debut,” and for which she had insisted on preparing with the detail to rival that of an Academy Awards Red carpet appearance. This explained the carefully coordinated mother-daughter matching outfits; nor had Mark and Billy escaped the fashion frenzy. Billy was his father in miniature, from the crisp collar of his little white dress-shirt to the creases in his trousers. As much as Mark thought Bridget had gone slightly over-the-top, he was secretly relieved that he might finally be able to retire the infamous reindeer jumper. 

In the midst of contemplating the scene before him, Mark felt a warm, slightly sticky tug on his hand and directed his gaze to his son, who stood peering quietly up at him. 

“I see you’ve said hello to Granny Pam and Grandpa Colin,” Mark observed, noting Billy’s handful of half-melted chocolate buttons that could likely be traced back to his grandmother. Billy nodded, a crease between his brows that told of deep thoughts. 

“Anything on your mind?” Mark inquired, crouching to Billy’s level and arranging his features into a serious, man-to-man talk expression. 

Billy hesitated, chewing his lower lip; then, in hushed tones, he asked, “What’s an old perv?” Mark’s instinct was to laugh, but the look on his child’s face was so serious that he endeavored to maintain his composure. 

“Where did you hear that?” he asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer. 

“Mummy. She said it to Uncle Geoffwey.” 

“oh dear,” murmured Mark. “Well, don’t worry about it. Mummy didn’t mean anything by it. She’s been calling Uncle Geoffrey that for years. I doubt he even notices.” 

“But,” Billy insisted, “Gwanny Pam scolded Mummy for saying it. Is it a bad thing to call someone a—you know, what Mummy said?” 

“Well, it’s, um. . . not very nice, no,” Mark admitted. 

“It looked like Uncle Geoffwey was twying to hug Mummy when she said it.” 

“It was. . . a sort of hug, yes.” 

Billy frowned. “But doesn’t Mummy like hugs? She doesn’t call you an old perv when you hug her.” 

Mark couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Well, no, but you see, that’s quite different.” 

“Oh.” Billy’s frown deepened. “I’m confused.” 

“Never mind.” Mark scooped up his son and kissed the top of his head, managing as he did to transfer a smear of chocolate onto the cuff of his own previously pristine shirt. He’d lost count now of the number of wardrobe casualties he’d suffered at the hands of his children, and his obsessive-compulsive nature notwithstanding, he’d learned to wear the chaos of fatherhood well. 

“Come on,” he said to Billy. “Let’s go see if we can find some more chocolate buttons, shall we?” Turning, he shifted Billy to the crook of one arm as his mother approached. 

“Mark! There you are!” Elaine smiled and leaned in to peck her son’s cheek, then her grandson’s. “Happy New Year.” 

“Happy New Year, Mother.” 

“How are things?” asked Elaine, responding to Billy’s outstretched arms by taking him into her own. 

“Mummy called Uncle Geoffwy an old perv,” Billy whispered to his grandmother. 

“Hmm, I’m not surprised, really,” said Elaine, smiling and shaking her head. 

“Is Mummy wicked for saying dat?” 

“Oh no, I don’t think so,” said Elaine. “But if she is, that doesn’t really matter, does it? It’s rather fun to be wicked sometimes.” 

“All right, Mother,” said Mark in a stern tone that was rendered somewhat ineffectual by the reluctant twitch at the corners of his mouth. 

Elaine laughed. “Really, Mark, when you get to my age, you’ll realize it’s not worth taking everything so seriously. Hasn’t Bridget taught you anything?” 

Mark’s expression softened. “Yes,” he said gently. “I think so.” 

“You all look perfectly lovely by the way,” Elaine commented. “Just like a Christmas card.” 

Bridget appeared just then with Mabel. “Happy New Year, Elaine.” 

“Happy New Year, dear.” Elaine offered her daughter-in-law a quick hug and leaned down to peck Mabel’s cheek. “How is everything?” 

“Oh, you know, super. Another turkey curry buffet,” Bridget replied airily. 

“Geoffrey Alconbury is up to his usual tricks, I hear.” 

Bridget rolled her eyes. “Of course. Such a lovely sense of tradition.” 

“Are you looking forward to returning to work later this month?” asked Elaine. 

Bridget’s eyes brightened. “I think so. I’ve really enjoyed being able to stay at home, but if I’m not careful, I’m going to forget how to hold an adult conversation. I’m actually surprised,” she added in a whisper, “that Mum didn’t seize an opportunity to start badgering me about it the moment I walked in the door.” 

“Well,” said Elaine, “I think it’s wonderful. Your mother is one of my dearest friends, and her heart is always in the right place, but don’t let her make you feel guilty about living your life according to your plan.” 

Bridget smiled. “I won’t, but I’m also not going to fool myself into thinking it’s going to be easy juggling being a career woman and a mum. Sometimes I already feel like I need an extra pair of hands just thinking about it.” As she spoke, she attempted to straighten Mabel’s skirt without spilling a nearly full glass of wine on it. 

“Here, darling, let me,” murmured Mark, deftly rescuing the wine that, for reasons best known to herself, Mabel attempted to snatch. 

“goodness!” laughed Elaine as Mark caught Mabel’s fingers with one hand and held the glass out of her reach with the other. “Dressing like your mother, and how drinking like her too. What ever next?” 

Bridget’s eyes sparkled as she joined in Elaine’s laughter. “It’s lucky I’ve given up smoking.” 

Elaine shook her head in mock exasperation. “Honestly, dear, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you never went out with my son after that. I thought I raised him better. What was it he said, precisely?” 

Bridget furrowed her brow, apparently in deep thought. “Something about not needing a blind date, I think?” She paused to arrange her features into a scowl that Mark shuddered to think had ever crossed his face in connection to Bridget. “Particularly,” she continued, “with a verbally incontinent spinster who drinks like a fish, smokes like a chimney, and dresses like her mother.” 

Elaine winced. “Heavy charges, indeed, but I suppose,” she added, turning a twinkling gaze on her son, “You don’t remember it?” 

“Um. . .” Mark hesitated. “No, not as such.” In fact, he did remember—vividly. The harder he’d labored to forget, the more tenaciously the memory had clung, though given that the said verbally incontinent spinster was now his wife and the mother of his children, he thought it just possible that she might have forgiven the insult. 

As if reading his thoughts, Bridget moved to his side and linked her free arm through his. “It’s okay, you know,” she whispered. “There are lots of things you could throw in my face too.” 

“True,” agreed Mark, kissing the top of her head, “but it was only a diary.” He pressed the palm of Mabel’s dimpled hand to his lips; then smiled at Elaine jiggling his son in the crook of her arm as he chatted merrily to her about all the gifts Santa had brought. “And I think, as far as new starts go, we’ve made a decent one.” 

“I’m starting to think Mum might actually get through an entire turkey curry buffet without criticizing me. Is this the year the world comes to an end?” 

Mark made a show of studying his watch. “You’re right. Nearly an hour in. Is she unwell, do you think? Or perhaps your dad’s finally had her criticism detector surgically removed for Christmas.” 

“What?” Bridget burst out laughing at his comment. 

“Don’t say ‘what,’ Bridget. Say ‘pardon’,” sniffed Pam, bustling over to where they stood, her face clearly broadcasting what Bridget termed her “Do what I say or I’ll magimix your face” expression. “have you wished Auntie Una and Uncle Geoffrey a Happy New Year?” 

“Mum, honestly, I’m a grown woman in my 40s with two children of my own. I don’t need to be reminded to put on my best manners in front of company.” 

Pam planted her hands on her hips. “You haven’t answered my question.” 

“yes, Mum,” Bridget replied wearily. “Of course I made sure to say hello to them first thing. I could hardly deprive Uncle Geoffrey of his traditional turkey curry buffet grope.” 

“Bridget!” hissed Pam, “that’s no way to talk. Auntie una and Uncle Geoffrey have known you since you were running round the lawn with no clothes on.” 

Bridget sighed. “Mum, please, how many times are you going to repeat that?” 

“Well, anyway, darling, that wasn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.” 

“If this is about my decision to return to work in a few weeks,” said Bridget, holding up a hand to silence her mother, “I don’t really need your criticism.” 

“I’m not criticizing, darling. I just wonder whether you’ve given it enough consideration. We’re talking about raising my grandchildren, after all.” 

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Mum, plenty of women are working mothers.” 

“Working mother, Indeed!” Pam scoffed. “I suppose you’ll have to get in one of those super-duper modern-day au pairs—some Eastern European Mary Poppins person. Imagine!” 

“They’re supposed to be quite helpful, you know,” Elaine offered, gently releasing a squirming Billy. “They come with all sorts of qualifications—master’s degrees in child psychology and that sort of thing. I expect they know more about raising children than I do.” 

“Rubbish, Elaine! There’s no education like life experience when it comes to being a mother. You didn’t see anyone checking our references or career qualifications before we were allowed to have children. Mother’s intuition was our degree, and it served us just fine, thank you.” 

“Really, Pamela,” said Colin Jones, catching wind of the conversation and drawing near to his wife. “don’t you think you’re being a bit unrealistic? Times change, you know. Bridget is doing the best she can. The children are happy and healthy. Isn’t that what matters most?” 

“Nonsense, Colin! Children need their mother. Do you want them to grow up feeling abandoned by their own mother?” 

Bridget rolled her eyes at Mark, who shrugged and remained resolutely silent. “It’s fine, Mum. I’ll just pin a note with their names on to the refrigerator, in case I forget who they are.” 

Colin chuckled. “There, you see? Nothing to worry about.” “Well,” said Pam with a heavy, long-suffering sigh, “I can see I’m not going to be taken seriously. Now, I’d better see if we need more savory doilies.” Without another word, she whizzed off, and Mabel held her arms out to her grandfather, who scooped her into a hug. 

“there’s my little mouse, and don’t you look pretty.” 

“Dweth itchy,” Mabel complained. 

“Oh dear, I’m sure that must be uncomfortable, but you look just like a little princess.” 

“Not pwintheth,” Mabel corrected severely. “I’m de queen.” 

“I see.” Colin smiled. “Well, that’s even better. You look very pretty, your Majesty.” 

“Tank you.” 

“but where’s your crown?” 

“Don’t encourage her,” said Mark, catching Bridget’s eye and smiling. 

“He’s right,” she added. “Mabel’s good enough at thinking she can boss us all around without one—something she probably gets from her grandmother.” 

“Don’t mind your mother, Bridget,” Colin said gently. “You know she’s hardly going to turn over a new leaf now, and she’s quite proud of you, really.” 

“I’m not so sure about that.” . 

“Well, I am. For all her criticism, she can’t ever get enough of telling people about her daughter the super-duper top television news producer.” 

At his words, tears sprang to Bridget’s eyes. “Really?” 

“Of course.” Colin shifted Mabel to one arm and with the other pulled his daughter into a hug. “You’re doing just fine, poppet,” he whispered, brushing his lips against her ear. “You just keep doing what you’re doing.” 

“You really think so?” 

“Well, let’s see. You have a challenging career, beautiful children, and the love of a good man you can count on. I think that’s quite an impressive trifecta, wouldn’t you say?” 

Eyes glistening, Bridget reached up to peck her father’s cheek. “Thanks, Dad.” 

* * *

Mark and Bridget had agreed to stay the night at Mark’s parents after the party and lunch with both sets of parents the following day before making the drive back to London. As much as the mechanics of their social life had taken on many moving parts with two toddlers, the children did provide them with a convenient and entirely legitimate excuse for leaving the festivities early. Mabel had attached herself to Colin for the remainder of the evening and eventually dropped off to sleep against his shoulder, and Billy had likewise nodded off in Elaine’s lap, after which the family bade everyone goodnight. 

After seeing both children comfortably tucked in bed, Mark and Bridget stood together at the window in the room they shared, watching a light dusting of snow drape the ground outside in a pristine blanket. Bridget rested her head against Mark’s shoulder as he drew an arm around her. 

“It makes me feel so hopeful, looking at that,” she murmured, gesturing through the window. “Fresh and clean, like starting over.” 

Mark nodded. “I was just thinking the same thing myself.” After a moment’s hesitation he added, “are you still upset about your mother?” 

Bridget shrugged. “Not really. I mean, she did hurt my feelings, but it’s inevitable when her reality and mine are so different.” 

“Sweetheart,” said Mark, “if it’s bothering you, you needn’t brush it off. I know you’re used to it by now, but you still have every right to feel upset.” 

“Well,” she admitted, “I do, not as much as I used to, but I still can’t help resenting sometimes that everything I do is wrong simply because it’s not the way she’d do it. I love being a mum. You know that, but with my mum, it’s all or nothing, like I’m selfish for wanting a career, and I just have to keep telling myself I’m not.” 

“No.” Mark kissed the top of her head. “Absolutely not, but. . .” He paused, considering his words carefully. “If you are having second thoughts about this, there’s nothing wrong with that either. This is your decision, and if it’s what you feel you want, then you know I support you, but you know you can change your mind as well. If you’re going to go forward with this, don’t just do it to prove a point to your mother, or to yourself, or to anyone else.” 

“I’m not, really,” she assured him. “I might have started to waver, but Dad helped me put everything into perspective. Mum can be so short-sighted sometimes, and when she gets that way, it’s easy for me to lose sight of the real picture. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, Heaven knows, but I’ve gotten a few things right too, where it counts.” She lifted her head to meet Mark’s eyes. “Mum’s criticism is a small price to pay, really, for being reminded of how lucky I am. I only have to look at my family any time I need that reminder. I’ve got two incredible, healthy, happy children and, to quote Dad, the love of a good man I can count on.” 

“I always knew there was a reason I liked your father,” Mark quipped. As he drew his arm more tightly around Bridget and bent his head to kiss her, his one wish for the months to come was that the sweetness of the laugh that bubbled on her tongue could linger all year long. 

**Author's Note:**

> In case you were wondering, Billy would be about 4 years-old here, give or take a few months. I mention Mabel's age, but not Billy's.  
> Comments and kudos are appreciated, as always, and follow or tweet me @eggsbenni221.


End file.
